


beneath the mask

by manbunjon



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Kinda, Mirror Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:53:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21552595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manbunjon/pseuds/manbunjon
Summary: The next time he touched you, he was careful to remove his gloves first.It made a thrill run through you at the sight of his state of undress, made your stomach go tight as a fist to think that you had this power over him, this man of danger and death, this assassin, this Mandalorian.
Relationships: The Mandalorian/Reader, The Mandalorian/You
Comments: 29
Kudos: 696





	beneath the mask

Your Mandalorian liked to have you in all sorts of different ways.

Sometimes he liked to dominate you, liked to feel how easily he could lift you in his arms and bend you to his will, how you could press your weight down on him and still feel light as silk. Other times he wanted you to take control, let you seat yourself on his lap and grind yourself against him, let you slip your shirt off so that your bare chest would press to his breastplate, the cold metal making your nipples go hard as the Beskar steel.

He liked to feel your weight upon him, liked when he could lean back and watch as you worked, clinging to him like the limbs of an errant vine, and you were more than happy to oblige, for you liked to ride him, to feel him shift beneath you, all hard muscle and cold steel, a tenuous mix of desire and restraint.

He didn't say much— he never did. But he always took care of you.

You could always tell when he wanted you. You could see it in the way he let his head tilt back, exposing the vulnerable sliver of olive skin between his helm and the mail stretched over his broad chest. He eyed you appraisingly, so that even thorough the Beskar steel of his helm you knew that his eyes were on you. He looked you up and down, let his eyes rake over you from the toes of your bare feet to the tips of your hair, before he parted his arms and let you nuzzle into them, let you sink down into his lap and wrap your arms around his broad shoulders.

Sometimes he looked down at you, watched the way your eyes fluttered or your lips parted, and thought he'd kill anyone who would ever dare to hurt you, to hurt what was his. Sometimes he looked at you and felt like he could burn down a whole city if you asked him to, if you just gave him one of those sweet smiles you always did.

The first time he fucked you was unremittingly rough, unrestrained and half-wild, like he couldn't restrain himself from taking you for even a moment longer.

You barely had time to undress before you felt his big hands lift your skirts and the sound of tearing fabric rent the air as your underthings were ripped aside. Your hands fumbled with his gunbelt and breeches, unfamiliar with the complicated knots he used to bind the leather holsters, but he let you, no matter how it drove him wild to feel your fingers dancing over his cock as you worked. He was gentle when he finally nudged your hands aside, taking over the job for you, and you spread your legs for him, not missing the way his head tilted forward, as though he was hoping to memorise the sight of your bare cunt.

Before long you could feel his cock at your folds and he slid in slowly, careful, letting your body adjust to him, bracing your weight against him as he held you. He told you to let go. Told you he'd keep you safe. Told you that he had you— and even though it wasn't until weeks later, when you had lain beside him in the small sleeping bunk on his ship and he had thought you asleep, that he promised he'd always have you— the deeper meaning of his words had not been lost on you. 

He took you against the wall, scooping you up into his arms and holding you there, sandwiched between his hard body and the hard wall, so that you could feel the craggy stones and the broken tile dig into your back, but you didn't care. After a while you could only feel him.

His hips snapped up against yours until your hips were flush against his, his gloved hands digging into your skin firm enough to leave bruises that you would be pleased to find were in the shape of his fingers, fanned out against your hips, your back, your waist.

He looked down at you through the polished silver helm, the moans that filled the air only slightly muffled by the aeration of the mask. He touched his forehead briefly to yours, a silent gesture of unmentionable tenderness, and lifted his head to look into your eyes, watching in adoration as you reached up to press your lips to the mask, where you thought his lips might be. 

It turned you on, seeing yourself like that, reflected in the polished steel. You could see every expression you made, every expression _he_ made you make, when he pushed into you and seated himself to the hilt. He liked it too, watching you like that, liked the way your head was bedded against his arm, the way your hair spread across the pillows as your lips parted in an obscene moan.

He brushed your hair back from your face with gloved fingers, let his thumb drag across the apple of your cheek with such tenderness that it took your breath away. Half of you was surprised by how gentle he was, but the other half just _knew_.

Knew that he would take his time with you, even when he was so filled with desperation and desire that it was overflowing onto you, in every lingering touch, every firm grasp. You knew that he wouldn't hurt you, knew that if loving him was sweet torment, that you were more than happy to endure it. 

The next time he touched you, he was careful to remove his gloves first.

It made a thrill run through you at the sight of his state of undress, made your stomach go tight as a fist to think that you had this power over him, this man of danger and death, this assassin, this Mandalorian.

He fucked you for hours, so that when you had both come and you rolled away from him, you could feel a pleasant sort of soreness bloom between your thighs. When you made to pull away, to rise from his bed and return to the minutiae of your day, your Mandalorian pulled you back, pulled you into his arms so that he could lay your head upon his breast. You fell asleep easily then, lulled into sleep by the cold singe of steel plate against your cheek and the tips of naked fingers tracing absentmindedly against your shoulders.

That was how the hours slid away, slipping into weeks and, before long, months. Months of fighting and fucking and the most fitful sleep either of you had since childhood.

And then the day came when he reached for his helm.

The air folded with the metallic hiss of a mask being removed and you couldn't help but stare, couldn't help but blink away the wetness that filled your eyes and threatened to spill down your cheeks. He was a Mandalorian after all, a man of the mask, and that was the way.

You could not help but follow the movements as he set down the mask on the table beside him, where you two had shared a meal that morning and shared a fuck that afternoon, before your eyes rose back to his face.

You gasped at what you saw. Not only at the unmasked features that stared back at you, but at the tenderness in his face, in the tear filled eyes, the reddened cheeks, the way his jaw tightened as he looked upon you for the first time without a visor before his eyes.

He was handsome in a way you hadn't expected. But then again, you didn't know what you had expected. Your Mandalorian was all brown skin and brown eyes and brown hair. Dusky, in the way that those who spent long hours beneath the pounding suns so often were.

His ears stuck out endearingly from beneath short brown hair, tousled and curled at its edges from where the helmet had mussed it, and the beard that crawled above his lip and across his neck was short and close-cropped, though you wondered when he had time to trim it. His lips were soft and red, and that, combined with a nose that was curved from being broken too many times, made the urge to press your lips to his grow so strong that it had you on your feet.

You strode toward him skittishly, as though afraid he might turn and run from you, might reach for the helmet and never again remove it. You wrapped your arms around him, resting your chin on his armoured chest as you looked up at him, unable to get enough of him, your eyes flitting all over his face as though hoping to memorise every inch of it, every scar, every freckle, every soft indentation of age.

His lips lifted in a slightly crooked smile, his lips so inviting that it felt like you could barely breathe unless you pressed your lips to his. He bent his head toward yours and you needed no more invitation, surging up to press your lips to his, and you had never been so thankful that there was nothing between you but air.

He traced your lips with your tongue and you opened up for him without hesitation, feeling the hand that curled around your neck tilt your head just slightly, so that he could deepen the kiss. You felt weak, like you might faint in his arms, like a foundling seeing blood for the first time.

You tilted your head backwards, growing bolder, hungrier, matching him kiss for kiss, until any reservations you had dissolved into a match of greedy, hungry kisses. Your body pressed flush against him, feeling every bit of that expensive armour he never removed, and in your state of undress he could feel your nipples harden against his chest, your breast heaving as though he had knocked all the breath out of you.

He dropped his head to leave a trail of warm, wet kisses across your neck, gloved fingers working the buttons of your lapels so that he could continue his path down to your collarbones.

"Why did you..." you began, unsure.

You were so out of breath you wondered if he could even hear you like that. You curled your palms over his broad shoulders and pulled him ever closer, rolling your hips against his stiffening cock.

"I just wanted to kiss you." he said finally, and you were pleased as all anything to find his voice was just as deep without the tinge of a moderator over it. It sent shivers over you from head to toe.

He took your hands in his large ones and kissed each of them without rush, until you seized his mouth again and let loose so many months of pent up want. You kissed and kissed and kissed until he could no longer ignore your moans, could no longer ignore the way you whimpered and keened against him as he palmed your breasts, your belly, your hips.

"I want you." you breathed, voice hoarse and ragged, as though you had just returned from a spar. "All of you."

You gestured toward his armour clad body, hoping your half-lidded eyes and kiss-swollen lips were enough to persuade him. It was as though he had entranced you, as though once you had gotten a taste of a man beneath the amour you couldn't get enough. " _All_ of you."

Your Mandalorian smiled and cradled your head in his big hands, pulling you close enough to kiss you again, the hand at your hip pushing you back so that he could press his hard cock to the curve of your arse.

"Get on the bed." he groaned, moaning softly as you palmed at the cock beneath his armoured breeches. "I want to make you mine."

You untangled yourself from his arms and walked toward the bed you shared, careful to sway your hips deliberately.

You look at him over your shoulder, and then it was finally your turn to smile, "I already am."

**Author's Note:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed it!! if you liked it please let me know!! i might even write more in the future :)
> 
> you can also find me on [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/ADAMDRIVERE) or [tumblr! 💕](http://oberynmartell.tumblr.com)
>
>> 


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